Salvage
by ProphesyGirl25
Summary: Her naivety and warmth died the day he did. Years later, her yearn to avenge her husband’s murder nearly consumes her. A past love will try to save her, but will they survive or let their demons, and their enemies, destroy them? Modern day, EC.
1. Prologue

Well, it's my first story, so give it a shot. It's begins more or less when Christine and Erik run into each other after several years (during which Christine has married Raoul and witnessed his murder). It involves Christine havingmore of a darker side after all she's been through, and how Erik handles that and his own demons.

* * *

_**Salvage**_

Prologue

She never liked the night.

Despite its welcome ability to veil her wandering identity and allow her to linger in whatever solitude she sought, she would often crave the brightness and warmth of the sun, when its rays are not confined within city smog and thick fog and clouds. It was probable that her lack of sun accounted for the unnatural pallor of her ghostly skin.

In fact, the night sky tended to remind her of rather unpleasant things, making her silently pray for light's illumination to burn through the repulsive memories and force them to hide in the recesses of her mind.

Night made her a truly morbid little thing, didn't it?

Christine barely flinched as her shoulder bumped with some woman who was leaving the bar Christine herself was entering. Neither bothered to mutter or gesture an apology. Instead, Christine entered the surprisingly unpopulated bar and let her brown eyes quickly scan the room before finding her usual spot near the corner. It was definitely a slow night. The usual crowd lingered near the drinks area while only a few couples danced lovingly in each others arms on the dance floor. There was also a rather nervous young red head on the small stage in the front, microphone in her trembling hands, apparently ready to sing some pop ballad.

After ordering her usual light drink, Christine removed her jacket and prepared herself to listen to what would no doubt be a butchering rendition of some classic Whitney Houston song. When the girl started, Christine found herself rather pleasantly surprised. The redhead wasn't perfect and did tend to over-sing, but it wasn't horrible to listen to.

Christine was unable to stop a small fond smile from appearing on her face at the memory of her young, naïve self singing years ago. It almost made her wish she could take the big stage again.

Almost.

But unfortunately, she made the choice to give up the spotlight and her success the day her first love was taken from her. Had Raoul not been ruthlessly murdered, she may not have spent the next few years hunting down the men who did it. She may not have spent most of her time in the dark. Had her life not been blown apart that evening, Christine may have still had the drive to pursue opera singing as a career. It was something she occasionally regretted, given all her devotion towards music and guidance by…him.

But that Christine was gone now…burned to death and obliterated in that house on January 25, 2000. Christine Daaé, the young and ripe student who developed the voice of an angel with the guidance of her very own ghost and angel of music, was now (to the world) lying beside her husband near her deceased father's resting place.

Now she went by Elizabeth Daaé, after her mother. And Elizabeth was stronger then Christine. She was cold, emotionless, and only able to be warmed by singing. Elizabeth was never a widely envied and talented opera singer. Instead, she was a locally talented girl in her 20s who sang in nightclubs to make cash. She wasn't Christine Daaé anymore.

She finished her drink and left the nearly deserted bar, smiling kindly at the young red head who finally stepped off the stage.

The cold night air seemed refreshing all of a sudden as it chilled her pale skin. Pausing a bit to take a deep breath and survey the area around her, Christine headed toward the direction of a more populated lounge bar to lose herself in song.

An eerie cold wind nearly chilled her to the bone the entire walk over.

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A/N: So, please, I ask you to review and give some feedback so I know if it works yet or not. Any type of feedback is appreciated! Enjoy!


	2. Nightmares

_**Salvage**_

Nightmares

"_She shouldn't be up now."_

_He only flashed that disarming bright grin of his and dipped her gracefully on the makeshift dance floor, effectively transforming her frown into a reluctant smile. Still, she insisted. "Raoul, it's too late for her."_

"_Perhaps," her husband answered in a tone that seemed incongruently contemplative as he regarded her with thoughtful blue eyes. The soft tinkling of the piano nearby ceased for a short moment before the pianist dove into perfect version of "Moonlight Sonata." The couple shared a deep look as they watched their beautiful three-year-old daughter kneeling curiously by the grand piano. The musician, who was fully submerged in the entrancing melody he was producing, was completely oblivious to the young girl watching him intently by his side. _

"_Lizzie darling, please. It's rude to stare." Christine cleared her throat after a moment of no response from her daughter. "Lizzie, please leave Mr..." she paused. "I'm sorry, what was your name again?"_

_The song stopped abruptly and the musician's hands barely grazed the keys. Slowly and stiffly the man turned around to face her…_

_Her breath caught in her throat._

_His face…was perfect. In fact, not one single imperfection marred one inch of his unblemished complexion. His tensed jaw line and cheekbones were clearly defined, and his amber eyes blazed through the dim lighting of the room. His features were that of an artist's dream, perfectly symmetric and glorious. _

_Except... there appeared to be one flaw._

_Despite the perfect elements of the pianist's handsome visage, something was off to Christine. It was as if something were out of place…or not there at all. A part of her even felt offended, as though she were playing an unwilling part in some greater deception._

"_It is rude to stare, Mama," her daughter piped up cheekily, but Christine was too lost in the blazing amber eyes boring into her to reprimand Lizzie's boldness._

_Barely aware that she was still within Raoul's protective embrace, Christine broke away from the stranger's gaze and realized she was sweating profusely._

"_Why is it so hot?" Her nervous chuckles broke the eerie silence of the room. Her husband, her daughter, the musician...why were they all staring at her as if she had forgotten some matter of great importance? She could now feel sweat dripping down her nose even though Raoul's hands were cold on her skin. _

"_It's always been hot, Mama!" Her daughter giggled at the apparently obvious answer. She began pulling eagerly at the pianist's ankle to urge him to continue playing. His glowing eyes remained locked on Christine for a moment before he slowly turned around and carried on the piece._

_As the gentle music commenced, Christine turned away from her daughter to face her husband, only to nearly shove him away from her and recoil in alarm._

_Raoul's face, which was only moments ago glowing with love and cheerfulness, was now black and decaying, his putrid smile barely nonexistent as his lips stretched into a cracked and ripped grin. His eyes, his once beautiful blue eyes, were empty dark holes and what was left of his blonde hair was seared. _

_Her husband was a living corpse._

_The dulcet tune of "Moonlight Sonata," though soft as a whisper, seemed to drown Christine's eternal scream until her moment of awakening.

* * *

_

"Christine? You okay over there?"

Christine's head snapped up at her brown eyes met the worried face of one of the other waitresses.

"I'm fine," she tried to assure her. "Didn't get much sleep last night."

A quick flash of crisp, melted skin invaded her mind.

The young waitress nodded with concern and proceeded to carry the large tray of food to one of her assigned tables. With a deep breath to clear her mind, Christine also prepared to bring the guests their orders.

She had been lucky to sleep at least a few hours the previous night, if that fact wasn't apparent by the dark circles under her eyes and her inability to even concentrate. Had it not been for her preference to be surrounded by strangers rather than the memories of her horrid nightmare, she probably would have called in sick.

"Excuse me? I asked for some more salt. Think you take some time out of your busy daydreaming to, oh I don't know, do your job?"

Biting back a sharp reply to the irritatingly rude woman seated nearby, Christine grabbed a small container of salt and nearly slammed it on the table.

"You're welcome," she chirped sweetly, ignoring the woman's ungrateful grimace.

She scrunched her nose in distaste at the sickening stench of cigarette smoke wafting from a booth in the corner. With barely concealed disgust, she approached the well-dressed middle aged man in the corner, whose eyes met hers challengingly.

"Excuse me, sir, you aren't allowed to smoke in here."

To her annoyance the man smiled up at her, his dark eyes locking with her brown ones and penetrating her. She couldn't help feeling invaded under his fixed stare.

He held the lit cigarette between his thick fingers and puffed a cloud of smoke up into the air near her face. Determined not to let it bother her, Christine resisted the urge to close her eyes and cough, instead only raising an eyebrow and matching the man's smile.

"Take it outside, sir. Or leave."

She swiftly turned around and headed toward the back room, relieved she was free from the disturbing stranger's presence yet still uncomfortable from the feeling of his black eyes still on her.

_Well, here's the start of another glorious day_, she thought with a sigh as she entered the back room, the kitchen.

Days like today caused Christine to reflect on a much happier, easier way of living life years ago. Things were simpler then. She was able to form friendships, gossip like naïve teenagers were supposed to do, and eventually gain both money and some success doing the one thing she loved: singing. She remembered starting out early as a member of the chorus in prominent theatre productions, but was always promised and strived toward much more.

It was when she gained her first major role in a major theatre production that her life started rapidly changing…

She met her angel of music…actually _met_ him face to face for the first time since she heard his entrancing voice melodically coaxing her to sleep and drying her tears after her father's death. She held his hand, followed him down to some underground labyrinth hidden beneath the floors of the Opera Populaire in New York, and actually _sang_ with him. It was the most wonderful, and most horrible, experiences she had ever had.

It all seemed like a very, very vague dream now.

However, the mayhem that soon occurred after she and Raoul began seeing each other would never escape her memory.

Of course she was far older and wiser than she had been at that time in her life. Years of death and running and hiding had forced her to accept reality and grow up. She had known her angel of music was only…human. There were no such things as angels.

Maybe she was wrong in thinking her life had been simpler then. Was her life now, without her mysterious and dangerous mentor, without Raoul, without her best friend…simpler? Was it better?

She had been _happy _once, she remembered. She was married to her husband, completely in love. She had a wonderful life and used her time to tutor aspiring singers. It was something she was able to do freely. She never had to look over her shoulder. She never had been reduced to singing in small local restaurants or lounges. She never had to make sure she remained unrecognizable to the world.

With a resigned sigh, Christine tossed her work apron on the table in the back. Why had she thought she would actually be able to concentrate today?

"Katharine, I'm not feeling to well. Mind if I…?"

"No problem," the girl answered quickly. "Get some sleep, will you?"

_Not likely_.

Christine nodded and left the restaurant without a word, well aware that the strange man in the booth was still smoking his cigarette and burning holes through her with his eyes.

* * *

The pair of dark, beetle-like eyes of the man sitting comfortably in a corner booth followed the seemingly exhausted young waitress leave the restaurant. With a satisfied smile, he finished his cigarette and put it out underneath the table, glancing at his expensive watch with annoyance. 

Now, he was normally a very tolerant man. But his patience was wearing thin.

Just as he was reaching for his phone, his guest entered the diner. It took the gray haired woman less than a minute to locate him.

The corners of his lips turned up slightly in triumph as she seemed truly fearful and weak for but an instant. By the time she reached the booth, she had returned to her normal air of control and composure. She sat down and, he noted with interest, eyed him with unmasked abhorrence.

"You're quite late, Mrs. Giry. I was worried you were going to stand me up."

Annette Giry never broke eye contact and kept her tone completely level. "It seems your doubts were for naught, Mr. Russell."

"It would seem so…" Russell nodded. "I would hate to see some horrible accident befall that pretty daughter of yours."

He watched with silent triumph a flicker of fear shine in the old woman's eyes. Oh, how he loved chipping away at such a solid, calm exterior.

"Now…why don't we order something to drink, hmm? We have quite a bit to chat about."

* * *

**A/N: For those of you who are wondering when Erik will come in: Soon! I need some build up to E/C before I even introduce it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it so far. If you do, or if you don't, or if you have any reactions or questions, REVIEW! Thank you!**


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